Something.
Rowan’s family thought it was unhealthy, but she found it cleansing. She used to go several times a year—which she finally realized was a bit obsessive—so now she only went on his birthday.
“It’s what I do,” Rowan told Iris. “I need to do it.”
Iris dropped her gaze. “We know.” The twins often used we instead of I, even when they were far apart.
Rowan watched Ivy hug her son.
He’s the same age Malcolm was when he disappeared.
In her memory, Malcolm was strong and confident and represented safety. Not a child. A result of her five-year-old perspective. Rowan couldn’t see her nephew, West, in that way, even though the boy was quite mature for his age.
Her mother’s gaze caught hers in the mirror, uncertainty in her smile. Malcolm’s birthday was always hard for her, but she was the ringleader when it came to making the plans. Rowan suspected having the party comforted her mother the same way returning to the woods comforted Rowan.
Miriam rarely cut hair anymore. She had a few special clients she would make time for, and she still did the bookkeeping for the salon, but her primary profession was watching West while Ivy worked. And she absolutely loved it. Rowan suspected she’d love it even more with a few other grandchildren.
She’d be waiting awhile.
Rowan had no child plans on her current timeline. Iris and her boyfriend hadn’t been together that long—although their relationship seemed quite serious to Rowan. The pair appeared genuinely in love. Ivy’s two-month marriage at the age of twenty had made her extremely picky. Men swarmed, but Ivy was rarely interested.
“I’ll know it when I meet him,” she’d said a dozen times.
Her ex-husband was still in the area, but Ivy had full custody of West. Her ex had been arrested too many times for stupid crimes. Theft. DUI. Domestic assault. Rowan had disliked him on sight, but Ivy had been swept up in a whirlwind romance and dashed to Las Vegas to get married.
Ivy was more practical now—almost too practical and rigid in her life. A contrast to the fanciful Iris.
Miriam approached Rowan’s chair, peered into the bowls of hair color, and then gave an approving nod. “That’s going to look amazing.” She and Iris launched into a detailed discussion about the process, and Rowan tuned them out. She was the only woman in the family not interested in hair.
Not that she didn’t like her hair to look good. But most days it was simply pulled back in a ponytail or in a messy bun on top of her head. Her world revolved around her job and Thor. Her fashion choices were based on the weather. She dressed for heat, rain, or snow. Her closet looked like an REI outdoor store with a few nice dresses thrown in for the occasional date.
“Your dad will be there,” Miriam said.
Rowan blinked, abruptly realizing her mother had addressed her. “Be where?”
Amusement crossed Miriam’s face, making her resemble Rowan more than usual. If she hadn’t looked so similar to her mother in height and coloring, Rowan would have wondered if she’d been adopted. The twins didn’t look like Rowan at all, and their personalities were energetic and bubbly.
Rowan was her mother’s daughter. The two of them were just as driven as the twins, but in a silent, unnoticeable way. They were the type of people who got things done under the radar. Steady. Dependable.
Her father was more like the twins. He’d built his landscaping business in record time during his twenties, accruing contracts with all the large businesses in town. His vibrant personality drew people to him. He had a dozen crews, and he was often found working side by side with them. But he put family above all else, and he was deeply in love with his wife. His face lit up whenever she walked in the room, and his gaze followed her when she left.
Relationship goals.
“I said your father will be at the party. He’ll be back in time,” Miriam said.
“Good,” said Rowan, clueless as to where her father was returning from, yet faintly remembering that there’d been talk of him not making the party. “We’ll do the usual?”
“Of course,” said Iris. “I’ve already shopped.”
The usual was burgers and Tater Tots with strawberry shortcake for dessert. And orange soda. All Malcolm’s favorites.
“How are you doing?” Miriam asked in a quieter voice.
A sharp pain stabbed Rowan in the stomach. “Better,” she said as Ken’s face flashed in her mind.
“And the investigation?” asked her mother.
“Detective Bolton is handling it.”
“Oh, I like him,” interjected Iris, nodding enthusiastically. “He’s very sharp and gives a damn about his work. Attractive too.” She eyed Rowan speculatively.
Rowan looked away. Attraction had pinged between her and the detective, but now he was in charge of finding Ken’s killer. Nothing else mattered.
“Okay!” Iris folded the last foil and patted the top of Rowan’s head. “Let’s get you under the dryer for a bit.”
“Not too long,” advised Miriam. “She’ll glow.”
“What?” asked Rowan, not liking the word glow. She glared at Iris. “What did you two do to me?”
“Nothing. It’s going to look great.” She pointed at the dryer. “Go.”
Rowan stood up. “It feels like I’ve got a hundred foils in my hair. That’s not nothing.”
Iris laughed. “It’s not a hundred.”
“It’ll be fabulous,” said Ivy, coming to join the conversation.
Standing beside his mom, West took a long look at Rowan’s foils and said nothing. He was used to seeing women in the salon look like aliens.
“It better,” grumbled Rowan, knowing full well her sisters knew exactly what they were doing.
An hour later she couldn’t look away from her hair in the mirror. Her sisters had blended all different shades of blonde into her long waves, and even a few strands of red peeked out here and there. It was amazing.
Ivy and Iris stood behind her looking like proud parents. “A little more platinum next time,” said Iris, and Ivy agreed.
“You’re magicians,” said Rowan. “No . . . you’re witches, right?”
“We prefer the term sorceresses,” said Ivy.
“It’s stunning,” said Miriam, touching Rowan’s hair. “It suits you.” Her lips quivered a little, and she forced a weak smile. “You’ll be at the house by six tomorrow?”
Her mother was acknowledging that Rowan would be busy with her yearly search for Malcolm.
“Yes. I won’t be late.”
“Good.”
The four of them exchanged hesitant smiles. Tomorrow was always a difficult day, but they attempted to make it a happy one.
I won’t be happy until I know what happened to Malcolm.
7
Rowan, twenty-five years ago
“He’s coming,” whispered Malcolm. “I heard the door slam.”
Rowan darted into her corner of the shed as Malcolm squatted in his. She could barely see an outline of her brother in the dim light. The shed didn’t have any electricity. The only light came in through two windows that had been nailed shut. On the outside they were covered with chicken wire.
Malcolm had talked about breaking one of the windows to escape, but Rowan had begged him not to. If they couldn’t get past the chicken wire, the man would be furious when he saw the broken glass.
They never wanted to make him angry.
But no matter how well they behaved, he was angry every day.
Rowan shivered as she wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them tight to her chest. During the day the shed was stifling and hot from the summer sun beating on its roof, but at night she was cold no matter how close Malcolm hugged her as they tried to sleep. Her brother had asked for blankets but been told they didn’t deserve blankets.
It made no sense to Rowan.
She wasn’t bad. And neither was Malcolm. But the man told them over and over how bad they were.
Am I wrong?
“In the corners!” yelled the voice outside the shed.